She pushed her morbid thoughts to one side as other young men came to dance with her, chatting briefly about themselves while she listened. Hamish wasn't the only one who thought America was a land for fresh starts, she discovered; quite a few Americans - even ones with ties to England - felt the same way. And most of them wanted to remove slavery from the shores of America before it brought the colonies crashing down.
It was almost a relief, she decided, when Irene finally pulled her off the dance floor. She said a hasty set of goodbyes, then obediently followed Irene through a maze of corridors and out of the rear of the building, where the carriages were waiting. Lady Sofia had loaned them a driver as well as a handful of servants, although Irene had warned her not to say anything where the driver could hear them. Lady Sofia might not be spying on them for the French, she’d added, but that didn't mean she wouldn't use anything her agent overheard against them.
“Not a bad introductory ball,” Irene said, as the carriage drove back to the house. “I trust you had a good time?”
They exchanged stilted conversation until they returned home, where the driver was dismissed and they walked into the living room. The servants had lit a fire, but - as Irene had ordered - withdrawn for the night. Raechel was no stranger to servants living in her home, yet the building was really too small to keep an effective distance between them ...
“You didn’t drink,” Irene said. “Well done.”
Raechel nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Irene had flatly forbidden her from taking even a sip of alcohol, even though several of the young ladies had been gulping wine down in a startlingly unladylike manner. Strong drink loosened the tongue, she’d warned; Raechel knew, from experience, that she was correct. A young lady could get into trouble if she drank too much ...
“The youngsters” - it felt odd to say that about people who were roughly the same age as herself - “don’t feel much sympathy for the crown,” she said. “The more Americanized they are, the less sympathy they have.”
“True,” Irene said. She looked up, suddenly. “I’ll tell you something interesting, too. A couple of the young people chatting to you had very good mental shields.”
Raechel blinked. “Like mine?”
“Better than yours,” Irene said. She smirked. “I wonder what they have to hide.”
“Perhaps they just don’t like having their thoughts ransacked,” Raechel pointed out, tartly.
“Perhaps they don't,” Irene agreed. “But that raises the issue of just who taught them how to shield their thoughts.”
“The French?”
“Could be,” Irene said. “You need a Talker to teach you how to shield your thoughts. And it really needs a powerful Talker.”
Raechel shuddered.
“Trouble is very definitely brewing, Raechel,” Irene warned. “And the sooner we get to the bottom of it, the better. Right now, if we go to war, I don’t know what side half the people in that ballroom are going to be on.”
“And if half of them turn traitor,” Raechel finished, “the war will not go our way.”
Chapter Sixteen
It was a relief, Gwen decided as she climbed out of bed, that Wayne had been able to find a handful of servants for the Sorcerers Hall. She’d always made certain to bathe and have a good breakfast at Cavendish Hall, a habit she’d picked up from Master Thomas before his death, a habit she’d had problems keeping during the trip to Russia. Merely having the various rooms cleaned and tided for the coming sorcerers made the building look a great deal more welcoming. She ate her breakfast slowly, then read the report Irene had written once she’d left the ball. It didn't make pleasant reading.
The Sons of Liberty are growing stronger, she thought. And they have at least one Talker on their side.
She scowled as she sipped her tea. She’d kept her mental shields firmly in place while she was at the ball, but she hadn't sensed any intrusion. It meant nothing, though. Very few Talkers would take the risk of trying to probe her thoughts, knowing that she would probably be able to sense their magic and take steps. And she didn't have anything like the power necessary to sense deceit, if the deceiver had even the slightest fragment of self-control.
“My Lady,” Wayne said. He walked through the door, looking surprisingly alert for a man who’d been halfway to permanent drunkenness a day ago. “The new magicians are ready to begin training.”
Gwen rose, picking up her top hat and walking cane. Master Thomas had set the style, back in London and she’d kept it. The idea of fighting while wearing a dress ... she smiled at the thought, then dismissed it. Quite apart from the simple fact that she would be unable to command respect, she’d run the risk of someone looking up her leggings when she went flying through the air. She glanced at Wayne - he’d donned a standard sorcerer’s outfit, a cross between a military uniform and a respectable suit - and then led the way out into the training ground. She couldn't help feeling a flicker of dismay at the sight before her. Six men stood there, two looking resentful and out of place in the uniforms they’d been issued. The other four seemed to be better at hiding their feelings.
“Under the Sorcerous Act of 1790, all registered magicians can be conscripted into the Royal Sorcerers Corps,” Gwen said, flatly. It had never been done before, she knew; very few magicians turned down the chance to serve their country and collect a very high wage. “With our recent losses, I have been forced to conscript you six into the corps. I know none of you signed up for this, but the country needs you.”
She took a breath. “You will be paid the standard salary, plus a regimental combat bonus,” she added, after a moment. The last thing she needed was half of them deserting. “If you don’t decide to stay, after the war is over, you will also be paid a completion bonus.”
“That’s very well,” one of the magicians said. “But will we get our jobs back?”
Gwen took a moment to gather herself. It was rare for her to be interrupted by a trainee magician, certainly not at Cavendish Hall. But the magician - she assumed he was Timothy O’Rourke, judging by the Irish accent - had carved out a life for himself as a sailor, despite the magic that would have made him much more. A Blazer could be a truly dangerous threat, as she’d taught the French sailors. She understood why he might not want to leave.
“If you want your old jobs back, you will get them,” she promised. If the war was won, the Viceroy would see to it personally. “If not, we will make other provisions for you.”
She took a moment to study the six magicians. Harry and Vernon Jameson were brothers, both Movers. She’d wondered if they were twins, when she’d seen the file, but further reading had confirmed that Harry was older by three years. Even so, they didn't look that different; they had black hair, muscular frames and identical smiles. Beside them, Marcellus Grams and Colin Shepherd looked very different; Grams looked like a businessman, complete with gold-edged spectacles, while Shepherd looked like a postal rider. And Calumet Fife, the Changer, was so thin that Gwen couldn't help wondering if a gust of wind would blow him away. She had to resist the urge to send him to the kitchens for a fattening up.
“I don’t promise this will be easy,” she said. “Some of you have been using your powers for work” - she nodded to the Jameson brothers - “while others haven’t been using your powers at all. The French will have a great deal of training to use their powers for war. We need to catch up as quickly as we can.”
“We have used our powers to fight,” Harry said. He had a strong and oddly-familiar accent, although Gwen couldn't place it. “Together, we beat thugs down on the docks.”
“That’s true, Milady,” O’Rourke said. “They make a formidable pair.”
Gwen smiled at them. “But have you fought another magician?”
The brothers looked at each other, then shook their heads. Gwen wasn't surprised. The brothers had registered, probably shortly after they’d used their powers for the first time, then gone back to their lives on the docks
. They would be sorely missed, Gwen was sure; they’d been able to unload boats faster than non-magicians, just by using their magic. But right now there was a different job for them.
“Very well,” she said. “It's time you learned how.”
She waved a hand over the training ground. Someone had shelled out a great deal of money to purchase the land in land-poor Manhattan, then turn it into a walled garden rather than more tenement blocks. She would have preferred a training centre somewhere further inland, where the sorcerers could practice without being watched, but there was no time to move the facility into the hinterlands. Besides, if all hell did break loose, they might be better off close to the docks.
“None of us are going to go off the grass,” she said, as she walked forward. She called on her magic and felt it billowing around her, ready to fight. “All you two have to do is defeat me.”
Vernon leered. “And what do we get if we win?”
“You get to go into battle against the French without any further training,” Gwen said, biting down the response that came to mind. No doubt Vernon had had something else in mind. “It would be a very impressive achievement.”
O’Rourke cleared his throat. “And what do you want us to do, while you’re skirmishing with them?”
“Watch and learn,” Gwen said. She reached the centre of the lawn, then turned to face the two Movers. “Ready when you are.”
Harry ran forward, magic billowing around him like a giant battering ram. Gwen was unwillingly impressed - he had a lot of power - but merely stepped to one side and Changed the grass below his feet into ice. It didn’t last for more than a few seconds, yet it was more than enough to make him slip and fall to the ground. Vernon swore out loud, then lashed out at Gwen with his own power. Gwen allowed him to batter her through the air - her protections insulated her from the brunt of the blow - while she caught hold of his food with her magic and yanked, hard. Vernon fell to the ground and landed hard.
“You hit her from that side,” Harry shouted.
Gwen threw herself up into the air as the two Movers tried to crush her between them. It wasn't a bad thought, but they’d literally told her what they intended to do. Their magic collided, violently; they were thrown backwards by the force of the blow. Harry landed badly, banging his head into the ground; Vernon snarled and reached out with his magic once again, finally trying to grab her with his power. Gwen would have been more impressed if he’d tried to do that from the start.
“Got you,” he snarled, as his power tightened around her. He was formidable, Gwen realised; if she’d been limited to one power herself, she might well have lost. “You ...”
She lifted her hand and generated a blinding flash of light. The power crushing her vanished in an instant as Vernon stumbled backwards, rubbing his suddenly blind eyes. It would take several seconds for his eyesight to recover, far too long. Gwen dropped to the ground, summoned a fireball and held it up in the air.
“I think I win,” she said. “You didn't do badly” - she added in a grudging tone of voice - “but you’re not used to thinking on your feet.”
“I think you win too,” Harry said. He was rubbing the back of his head. Gwen was relieved to see there didn't seem to be any permanent damage. “Vernon?”
“She blinded me,” Vernon stammered. He sounded as though he was torn between panic and rage. “The bitch blinded me!”
“Your eyesight will recover,” Gwen told him, curtly. She hoped he’d get over it and start treating her as someone he could learn from, rather than a potential enemy. There were already too many enemies on the wrong side of the fence. “And when it does, you’ll know not to fall for the same trick twice.”
“I never thought of that,” O’Rourke observed. He didn’t sound angry, merely surprised. “I should have thought of that.”
Gwen gave him a sidelong look. “What did you do with your magic?”
“Charting waters,” O’Rourke said. “And guiding boats in and out of the harbour at night.”
Gwen looked at Wayne, who nodded. “Blazers will learn from me,” he said, firmly. “We’ll go down to the shooting range and start working on our offensive range.”
O’Rourke looked dubious, but followed Wayne and the others. Gwen watched them go, then turned to Fife. The sole Changer looked nervous ... Gwen seriously thought about just letting him go, even though she had a feeling she might need him. A trained Changer would be invaluable, but even an unskilled one would be useful.
“Sit with your brother until his eyesight is back,” she ordered Harry, who nodded. “Mr. Fife, come with me.”
“Yes, Milady,” Fife said.
Gwen felt a sudden flicker of Déjà Vu as they walked into the shielded area. “What do you do with your magic, Mr. Fife?”
“Very little, My Lady,” Fife said. She was certain, very certain, that he was lying. “I merely registered shortly after I changed something for the first time.”
“Very good,” Gwen said. She hoped Lord Mycroft would release a handful of trained magicians soon. Even a couple would make it easier to train the Americans. “Watch this.”
She picked up a stone, charged it with energy and threw it over the blast wall. It exploded, seconds later. Gwen smiled, remembering her first experiences with such magic, then picked up another stone and passed it to Fife. He took it, turning it over and over in his hands as he eyed it doubtfully.
“Charge it with magic, then hurl it over the blast wall as soon as you stop,” Gwen told him, carefully. If he was lying about how he used his magic, what else was he lying about? Had she scooped up a Son of Liberty - or a criminal? “Don’t hold on to it after you stop.”
“I made things explode before,” Fife said. He studied the rock for a long moment, then allowed his power to flow. “I never mastered the timing.”
“No one has,” Gwen said. She’d driven herself dotty trying, back in Cavendish Hall, but even the most experienced Changers couldn't predict when the makeshift grenades would go off. An impact might set them off ... or they might explode an hour or two later, when nearby watchers no longer took the threat seriously. “All you really want is something that will explode on cue.”
Fife nodded, then hurled the rock over the blast wall. Gwen heard it hit the ground on the far side, but there was no explosion. She counted up to forty before it finally exploded, with enough violence to shake the ground. Fife gave her a long look and she nodded, pleased. At least he’d mastered the first lesson without a major effort.
“I’ll be working with you one on one,” she told him, shortly. She’d have to arrange a chaperone too ... she gritted her teeth in annoyance. Irene and Raechel had too much else to do, while Arielle Franklin-Rochester was too young. Gwen couldn't see her uncle agreeing to allow her to visit Sorcerers Hall. “Until then, keep practicing with the rocks ...”
She paused as a thought struck her. “When you get hungry,” she added, “tell the cooks you want something to eat. They’ll always have something ready for us.”
“Thank you, My Lady,” Fife said.
Gwen smiled at him, then walked back to where Harry and Vernon were sitting. Vernon seemed to have recovered, but there was an evil look in his teary eyes that boded ill for the future. Gwen met his gaze challengingly - she’d met enough obnoxious men to know that showing weakness was a mistake - and silently dared him to do something. Harry prodded Vernon in the chest before he could do anything stupid. Gwen was almost relieved. At least one of the brothers had some common sense.
“On your feet,” she said. “You have some practicing to do.”
Her sense of dismay grew stronger over the next hour. The brothers were strong, but dangerously untrained. Their magic was surprisingly delicate at handling large objects, yet they were clumsy with small items and neither of them had ever thought to fly. It was odd - surely, they should have been capable of realising the potentials inherent in their powers - but they hadn't. Losing their grip on Earth seeme
d to scare them.
“You’ll need to practice harder,” she said, after the fourth apple was ripped apart by Vernon, the debris dropping to the grass. “Using a lighter touch will make your life easier.”
“It isn’t something you need down at the docks,” Vernon muttered. “Really.”
They stopped for lunch - thankfully, the cooks had produced an enormous meal - and then went back to work. Gwen left Wayne supervising the two Movers - and teaching them how to shield themselves against magic - while she checked on the Blazers. None of them had anything like the level of skill she’d come to expect at Cavendish Hall, although O’Rourke had come up with a trick of his own. Gwen had never realised it was possible to create a light source visible only to the magician who cast it, but O’Rourke had definitely made it work. She made a mental note to work on the trick herself - it might be very useful - then hurried back to the Movers. Neither Harry nor Vernon seemed to be capable of holding a shield in place for very long.
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